


Making it Work

by PyrophobicDragon



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrophobicDragon/pseuds/PyrophobicDragon
Summary: It becomes a little joke between the two of them."Let's make it work.""We'll make it work."





	Making it Work

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SciaticSpace929](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SciaticSpace929/gifts).



> Big thanks to Sci for the read-over and some ideas!

They first say it at the very beginning--the start of their little group, thrown together by happenstance, finally agreeing to becoming somewhat of a true adventuring party.

“Let’s make it work,” Caleb said.

“We’ll make it work,” Fjord replied.

The second time they say it, they’re sitting next to each other near the merrily blazing campfire. The others had gone to the nearby river to clean their various clothes and bedrolls, leaving the two men to prepare a meal.

Poking at the fire, watching Fjord yank the skin off of a deer out of the corner of his eye, Caleb clears his throat and says softly, “I hope you know how to cook that thing as well as you can skin it."

A brief pause. Fjord’s back stiffens, and he turns around. “I thought I was just gonna clean it and you were gonna cook it.”

Caleb stares at his compatriot. “...Well, I mean, I can cook it, but it doesn’t mean you want me to.”

Fjord grimaces, then looks Caleb in the eye and says, with utter honesty, “I’m a shit cook.”

Caleb is startled into a bark of laughter. “Well so am I!” He shakes his head, then suddenly remembers their conversation from just a few days ago. Stifling a chuckle, he looks Fjord in the eye. “Let’s make it work."

Fjord looks confused for a heartbeat, then his eyes widen in recognition. He throws his head back and laughs, making Caleb’s grin grow wider and wider with each moment that passes, filled with Fjord’s laughter. Finally, Fjord looks back at him, still chuckling a little. “We’ll make it work.”

Between the two of them, they managed to cook a deer that is tough and under-salted. The others don’t complain too much--all of them are far too used to subpar food--but after dinner, Beau looks up, still chewing on her last bite. “So...we’re all agreed that these two are never taking cooking duty ever again?”

The adamant murmur of agreement sends the two of them into snorting, giggling fits.

 

***

 

Sitting at a table in an inn, Fjord and Caleb stare at the small pile of coin their party managed to cobble together--a handful of copper, a few silver, and a two gold pieces were all that were left after a few unfortunate encounters that required several very expensive healing potions.

As the heavy rainfall that had plagued their traveling troupe for the last few weeks beat against the windows, Fjord counts up the copper one more time, with a hint of desperation, as if it would magically make a bit more appear. He looks up at Caleb, giving him a shrug. “Well, we  _ definitely _ can’t afford the inn.”

Caleb shuts his eyes. Just two days ago, Nott and Jester were chatting about how nice it would be to sleep in a proper bed with a proper roof as they tramped through the rain. He feels the guilt stirring in his gut twist--if he wasn’t so weak, they wouldn’t be constantly strapped for cash like this. He gives out a heavy sigh then looks at Fjord, leaning forward a little. “Look, we can either give up and find someplace under a tree to camp out for the night--again--and save our coin for the next inevitable emergency, or we can chat up the innkeep a bit and see if we can get a discount, or exchange a bit of labor, or something.”

He watches as Fjord’s gaze drifts over to the innkeeper--a slender, redheaded woman--and gives a curt nod, eyes sharpening. His lip quirks up into a smirk. “Let’s make it work.”

Caleb feels his own mouth shape into a smile. “Hey, that’s my line.”

“So you have to do mine, it’s only fair after all,” Fjord replies, his smirk softening to a grin.

Caleb shakes his head. “This is a thing now, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Fjord says cheerfully.

Upon consideration, he’s not opposed to that. “In that case...we’ll make it work.”

 

***

 

Crouched behind the Baron’s house, Fjord peeks around the corner. He watches as the Baron’s guards march his companions--his  _ friends _ \--through the doorway. He counts up the silhouettes (and that’s certainly Beau, flopping about like a caught fish.) Despite the tough fight with the guards, everyone appeared to be standing upright, which made the leaden weight of dread lift a bit from his gut.

He turns around to face Caleb, whose hasn’t released his iron grip on his forearm ever since the two of them had slipped away from the guards under the cover of night. Both moons had waned, so Caleb was nearly blind in the thick night. Fjord gently squeezes his shaking arm, trying to instill some sort of comfort into his friend. He leans forward and breathes into Caleb’s ear, “They’re all there. Being brought inside.”

He feels more than sees Caleb nodding. Caleb whispers back, voice quivering, “That’s...that’s good, they’re alive. How many spells do you have left?”

Fjord grimaces. He spent himself quite a bit in that fruitless battle earlier--a mistake he’s sorely regretting now. “I think I have enough juice for one big one.”

A barest hint of a sigh. “Me too. That’ll have to do.” Caleb shuffles around, turning to face Fjord’s general direction. Sightless as he is, his gaze completely misses Fjord and lands somewhere to his right, but Caleb is firm as he addresses where he assumes Fjord to be. “Let’s make this work.” His voice brokers no argument.

Fjord looks up at the stone building they’re pressed against. Five of their companions in chains (again), a stupidly rich asshole with secrets miles deep, a veritable castle to somehow get in, find their friends, and get out again, and a legion of guards to sneak past who had kicked their asses mere hours before. Those were the odds they were given.

He looks back at Caleb, cupping his cheek with his free hand and pressing their foreheads together. Caleb’s eyes widen briefly, but he relaxes, now staring right at Fjord as he says, just as staunchly, “We’ll make this work.”

With the hand that’s not holding onto the other arm, they both reach up and simultaneously cast Mask of Many Faces.

 

***

 

This damnable cave system would be the end of them.

Caleb coughs, tasting iron on his tongue as he limps along the stone floors towards a distant, unplaceable sound. When they were beset by those-- _ things _ , he had been chased away from the rest of the party along with Yasha. He had lost her quickly in the winding, illusory caves.

Then he gained the giant hole in his chest that was currently sluggishly dripping blood.

The only reason why he wasn’t completely bled dry yet was the rusted blade still jammed into his torso. It sends jolts of pain as it scrapes against his ribs that drowns out all other sensation with every step, but he dare not pull it out or stop moving. He has to get closer to where someone could find him. He has to do  _ something _ to increase his marginal chances of survival before the darkness that was encroaching onto the edges of his vision takes over.

As he turns a corner, he lets out a tiny gasp of pain. Then he hears a familiar voice, now small and thin, call out, “...Caleb?”

His spine straightens, sending another arch of pain through him. He pushes past it and calls out weakly, “Fjord?”

Seemingly out of the wall, a blue arm sticks out. “...Come….here.”

‘Here’ turns out to be a small recess in the wall, hidden from most angles. Fjord is sitting just inside, breathing heavily. There’s blood smeared all across the wall at his back, but he manages to smile a slightly red, sticky smile. “...I’m glad you’re here.”

“How’d you get in here…?” Now probably wasn’t the best time to be questioning the hows, but Caleb’s brain is tired, so he asks the first question that comes swimming up. He leans against the wall and slides down, sitting next to Fjord.

“...I ‘unno….” Fjord mumbles. He looks down at Caleb as he blinks sluggishly. “...Just taking a break...we should find the others….”

His eyes drift down to the blade in Caleb’s chest and frowns. Caleb follows his gaze, numbly surprised. It’s not hurting anymore. The whole world feels muted, as if he’s wrapped in a thick wool blanket. He reaches out and feels Fjord’s hand easily slip into his, assisted by all the fresh blood.

He takes as deep of a breath as he can manage around the sword and confesses, “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

Fjord’s grip tightens with sudden strength. Through his blurred vision, he can see Fjord’s head lifting from the wall. “...No. We’re gonna rest up a little, then we’re gonna get up and find the others and get the fuck out of this forsaken hellhole. Okay?”

Despite his fighting words, his head drifts back to thump against the wall, and he coughs, turning his head a centimeter and spitting blood. His hand, though, remains tightly wound around Caleb’s. It’s the only thing that feels real now.

Caleb shuts his eyes. He’s so tired. But Fjord is right--he can’t leave Nott alone again. He runs his tongue across his teeth, gathering up the iron taste, and tries to spit like Fjord did. It dribbles down his chin instead, and he makes no move to wipe it away. Instead, he forces out, voice barely a whisper, “Let’s make it work.”

Fjord squeezes his hand. In any other circumstance, it would be barely noticeable, but in this hazy, half-real half-dream state, it’s solid and strong in his palm. “We’ll make it work.”

The last thing he feels before he slips into unconsciousness is Fjord’s head hitting his shoulder.

 

***

 

It takes him three days to finally fight off the burgeoning infection. Another two of recovery before he felt well enough to get out of the bed and limp around the room, under the watchful eye of Nott, whose head was wrapped in so many bandages that it leaned constantly to one side or the other from the weight. 

As soon as he felt well enough to stand for five minutes without falling over, he left his room. The place smelled like a sickhouse after all the time he spent sweating and bleeding all over the sheets. 

With the help of Nott, he limps out into the hallway, stopping every so often to catch his breath. Somehow, they manage to make their way down the hall into the main room of the inn they were staying in.

Although Nott and Jester had assured him many times that all of their party had survived those damned caves, he still felt an overwhelming wave of relief when he sees everyone sitting around a table in the corner. They were all wrapped in all sorts of bandages and looked about as bad as he felt, but they were all  _ alive _ and he could finally see them after being so sure that he would perish in that cranny, holding Fjord’s hand.

As the two of them slowly make their way across the room, Yasha looks up from the table. The corner of her mouth quirks up into a small smile, and she says something to the others, tilting her chin in their direction. As soon as she does, everyone at the table turns, smiles appearing on faces and relief clear in their eyes.

Caleb’s eyes slide across the table until he locks his gaze with Fjord’s. The chair clatters, loud in the empty room, as Fjord stands up and walks over, steady with purpose even as he leans on the back of chairs and the stick in his hand for assistance.

When he finally comes to a stop in front of them, Caleb smiles up at him and says softly, “It’s good to see you, Fjord.”

Fjord swallows and nods, jerkily. His gaze roams around Caleb’s face, drinking in his appearance. “...Yeah. You too.” There’s an unusual air of awkwardness hanging around his usually charismatic friend.

A long pause hangs in the air. Caleb blinks, uncertain of the strange atmosphere, and hesitantly attempts to speak. “Fjord, are you--”

Then Fjord drops his stick, reaches up and grasps his face in his broad hands, and leans in and kisses him.

Caleb almost falls over from shock. He’s kept upright by Fjord’s gentle grasp on his face and his own hands, reaching up automatically to hang onto Fjord’s arms as his knees grow weak.

After a moment, Fjord pulls back, but he doesn’t go far. Instead, he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together, and confesses, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Took nearly dying by your side to make me willing to act on it.”

Caleb is silent for a long time. His mind is screaming at him-- _ this won’t work, you’re a big mess, you’re too weak and too much of a coward this will never work-- _

Fjord is looking at him, slowly slumping, waiting for his reply. Caleb opens his mouth to say something, but instead swallows and reaches up, cupping his cheeks. “You know what?” he asks rhetorically, and continues with determination. “Let’s make this work.”

Fjord’s smile is blinding. “We’ll make this work.”


End file.
